Getting In: Florida 2016

The first day was full of anticipation and wanderlust. Would our memories sync with the reality of our surroundings? Could it really be as good as that first Disneyland high all those years ago? Would it live up to all the hype? I needed this holiday.

“So, first rides teacups yeah?”. Yes was always going to be the answer. I had made matching t-shirts with teacups spray-painted on each of them for us all to wear, of course yes was going to be the answer. All we had to do was activate the tickets, get past bag check and we were in.

“D’ya wanna get the boat over or just get the monorail?” asked Stef. Niall and I shrugged our shoulders before entering into a chorus of “not fused. Can do either. What d’ou fancy?”.

I looked at Boss for a hint of a decision but she was as blasé as Niall and I were. It can happen like that in a small group sometimes. No one person wanting to disappoint the others, so everyone waits to see what the majority says. All I was concerning myself with at the time was with teacups and an ice-cream.

As we got off the boat and neared the Magic Kingdom entrance I readied for the bag check. It is an elbows out, gum-shields in, batters up affair. Of course I only found this out after my first attempt.

I come from a long line of orderly queuers, I know how it is supposed to be done. You get in line, behind the person in front of you and you wait, patiently, only moving forward when the person in front moves forward. How hard is that? To get into the park I had to get bag checked by the Disney Cop which meant going up against every person who wanted to enter and not all of them wanted to wait.

My back was to her as she boomed “Scuse me! Are yoo n’ this queue?”. As I turned to respond I was met with a square-jawed, square-shouldered mum of five who was wearing three differently sized vests that were not-at-all covering her Florida state sized arms and jean shorts you could camp in.

“WELL? Are you n’ this queue or not?” she repeated louder and with an added arm gesture.

At that point I should have responded with a cleaver retort. Something witty and sarcastic that would shut her down. Of course I was in the fucking queue! Why else would I just be standing there, staring down a long line of people, towards a silver-haired, mustachioed man in a security uniform, holding my bag unzipped, ready for inspection? Why? I thought my situation was fairly obvious. But she was massive and had teeth and by now my flight or fight response had kicked in and it had managed to convince my brain that her vision was purely based on moment. So I stood stiff, just staring up at her, not saying a word. I must have looked so glaikit.

“Auh, Whatever! Com’on kids, jus get through there. MOVE!”.

She filed all five kids and a sorrowful looking husband through a crowd of bodies, who were mostly waiting patiently to be searched, towards a gap on a table that could barely fit a baby, let alone five youths, a husband (I’m assuming) and the fire-breathing mother of them all. But apparently that is how you have to play it when entering the happiest place on earth.